


Friendly Face

by mydeira



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened before Cordelia woke up in "You're Welcome".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Face

**Author's Note:**

> Written for eleniangel for sallyanne’s Cordelia Ficathon (on LiveJournal in August of 2005) whose request was for Cordy/Doyle with a little Queen C and some angst and no fluff, Connor, or C/A. Thanks to sadbhyl for the beta.

“Hello?  Anyone here?” Cordelia called.  She looked around at her surroundings, which weren’t much.  Calling it a gray room seemed to be an overstatement.  It was more or less a space of nothing.  Having spent the past year in a coma, she was pretty used to her dreams, and this was definitely _not_ a dream.  It wasn’t something she could really put her finger on, but she just knew, like you do with a good melon.  Maybe it was the Powers finally deciding to finally clue her in on something?  Wishful thinking.

 

“Hello?  Hey, anybody?  Great as it is to not be dreaming for once, I’d kind of like to know what’s going on.  Hel-lo-o!”

 

“Cordelia.”

 

She whipped around.  “Doyle?”

 

Doyle smiled, “In the flesh.  So to spea—”

 

He was cut off as Cordelia threw her arms around him.  “God, it’s so good to see you!  I never thought—wait a second,” she pulled back.  “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

 

“Well, no, not exactly,” he shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Not exactly?  What the hell kind of answer is that?  Undead?” she tried.  “Ugh, please tell me I’m not that.”

 

“You’re dying, darlin’,” he said softly.

 

“Oh,” she grew quiet.  “So what’s this about then?  Why not just let me keep sleeping until I...until I stop?”

 

“The Powers have a request,” Doyle said carefully.

 

Cordelia snorted.  “Request?  When have the Powers ever _asked_?  They usually just do.”

 

“There was nothing they could do about Jasmine.”

 

“Nothing they could do?  A vision would have been nice.  A bit of warning, like hey, don’t listen to the big hulking demon, he’s just paving the way for some rogue Higher Power to come to earth?  Or stay away from the light?” she fumed, pacing back and forth.  “The visions sucked, but I got used to them.  Was willing to let them kill me, accepted it actually.  And this is how I get repaid?”

 

“The Powers want to square things with you,” Doyle ventured.  “It doesn’t happen often, but they owe you.”

 

“So I get to not die?” she asked hopeful.

 

“You get a chance to say good-bye,” he replied.  “They really need your help on this one, Cordelia.”

 

“So what, I run the Powers’ errand, stop in and say sayonara to Angel and everyone, then the final curtain call, end of story?” she stared him down.

 

“Since what they want you to do involves Angel, it’s kind of like two birds with one stone, really.”  Doyle shrank back, seemingly shocked at her attack.  He hadn’t seen her in four years, she could excuse the oversight.

 

“Let me guess, Angel’s strayed from the Champion path again.  Darla didn’t come back again, did she?”

 

“Right in one.  Except for the Darla part.”

 

“This is unbelievable!” she exclaimed.  “You know what, I don’t blame Angel one bit.  I’m beginning to think it’s all a load of crap.  Fighting for the people.  Saving the world.  Over and over again until you finally lose.  Then it’s someone else’s turn.”

 

“You don’t really believe that, Cordelia,” he said knowingly.

 

“No, I’m just really pissed off,” she harrumphed.  “I don’t want to die.  Two years ago I was ready.  Then after Skip demonized me, or whatever, I kind of got used to the idea of living again.  I’m not ready anymore.”

 

“If there was any way I could make things different, you know I would.  Sticking you with the visions, you could say I owe you one,” he smiled sadly.  “But the rules can only be bent so far.”

 

“They can be broken,” she tried.

 

“Not this time.”

 

“I knew you were going to say that,” she sighed.  “And if I say no?”

 

“You still die.”

 

“Mmm, sounds like a real choice to me,” Cordelia grimaced.  “Why you?”

 

“They figured a friendly face my have a better chance of convincing you.  And my Irish charm never fails with the ladies,” he winked.

 

“Seducing me to do the right thing, then?”  She smiled in spite of herself.  “But if I remember correctly, I managed to resist your ‘charms.’”

 

“I seem to recall that you were waverin’ there at the end, telling me to ask you out,” Doyle grinned.  “I don’t call that resistin’.”

 

“Watch it, _Francis_.  Just because you’re dead, doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass, buddy.  I picked up a few tricks these past few years,” she wagged her finger at him.

 

“How about kicking some undead ass instead?” he offered.

 

“That bad?”

 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

“Short of Angel joining forces with Wolfram & Hart, I’ll believe anything,” she said off-handedly.  Then with resignation, “How long do I get?”

 

“A few days.”

 

Cordelia walked off by herself to digest things.  At least she would get to see everyone again, that was a plus.  And she would get to be in control of her own body again, no guests from higher planes tagging along.  But only a few days?  That wasn’t enough time to do anything.  There were so many things she never had the chance to do, or say.

 

“When it’s over, how will I... Will it... What then?” she asked tentatively.

 

“Nothing to be afraid of,” he said honestly, joining her.  “You won’t be alone.”

 

She gave him a puzzled look.

 

“I’ll be waitin’,” he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  “If you want me to.”

 

“You will?” she bit her lip.  “I think I’d like that.”

 

“Ready to go smack some sense into our favorite vampire?”

 

“How will I know what to do?  What to say?”

 

“Just be yourself, princess.  You’ll know what needs doing.”  He held out his hand.

 

Taking it, she asked, “So, what’s it like?”

 

“The afterlife you mean?” Doyle considered it.  “You don’t have to wear white, contrary to popular belief.”

 

“If I ever have to wear white again, it will be too soon,” she sighed with relief.  “I was stuck in that same damn dress for way too long when I was on that higher plane.  And then being all comatose, I’m sure they’ve stuck me in one of those nasty white hospital gowns.”

 

“I promise, no white.”  He squeezed her hand.  “You ready?”

 

“Ok,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “I’m ready.”

 


End file.
